But I can tell you one thing, Mr. Betteredge--if WE don't find the
Moonstone, THEY will. You have not heard the last of the three jugglers
yet."
Mr. Franklin came back from his walk as the Sergeant said those
startling words. Governing his curiosity better than I had governed
mine, he passed us without a word, and went on into the house.
As for me, having already dropped my dignity, I determined to have the
whole benefit of the sacrifice. "So much for the Indians," I said. "What
about Rosanna next?"
Sergeant Cuff shook his head.
"The mystery in that quarter is thicker than ever," he said. "I have
traced her to a shop at Frizinghall, kept by a linen draper named
Maltby. She bought nothing whatever at any of the other drapers' shops,
or at any milliners' or tailors' shops; and she bought nothing at
Maltby's but a piece of long cloth. She was very particular in
choosing a certain quality. As to quantity, she bought enough to make a
nightgown."
"Whose nightgown?" I asked.
"Her own, to be sure. Between twelve and three, on the Thursday morning,
she must have slipped down to your young lady's room, to settle the
hiding of the Moonstone while all the rest of you were in bed.
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